it’s ok
to take a little break
every once in a while
it might even be
necessary
[right? i ask myself
my subconscious and my
inner capitalist and my
perfectionistic brain
right?
right???]
it’s ok
to take a little break
every once in a while
it might even be
necessary
[right? i ask myself
my subconscious and my
inner capitalist and my
perfectionistic brain
right?
right???]
drawing cats
for catober
figuring out a style?
maybe?
[i don’t know, a majority of my cats so far
look exactly the same as they did
when i was 13]
but at least i’m drawing
and even if i don’t draw
11 other months in the year
i have 31 drawings to show for october
as bad as they are…
i’m always encouraging others to make bad art
why can’t i let myself make bad art?
why can’t i let myself?
why can’t i?
perfectionism kills
it kills creativity
it kills enthusiasm
it kills hope
and it kills souls
[if only my own words had any impact
on the chemicals in my brain that scream
‘that is true for everyone BUT you —
you are the one person for whom
perfectionism matters
MORE, it is
LIFE
OR
DEATH
and you MUST BE PERFECT
to survive…’]
i’m terrified
of everything
i’m terrified of living life
but i’m so terrified
of not
i’m scared of the united states government
but i’m scared of moving to something
new
i’m afraid of imperfection
but i’m always sabotaging myself
when i come even partially close
to something close
to perfection
if someone were to meet me
they’d never know that i feel
my whole life is run by
fear
but damn
i’m so scared
all of the time
and i will avoid so many things
just to avoid that feeling
[though it follows me
everywhere]
but sometimes i do things
even when i’m utterly
terrified
and they say that’s bravery
so i suppose that’s kinda cool…
here we are
working[auditioning]actor
less time for
writing
more time for
figuring out
[im]perfectionism
interestingly
i am not a perfectly moral being
and i feel like the few times i’ve
strayed
from the morality i’d like
have influenced me the most
in keeping kindness and honesty
at the top of my
values tree
[now why can’t my perfectionism hear that
and substitute in “mistakes”
and feel like making them
would just make my talent and skills
even
greater???]
i keep feeling
almost
ready to write
like i
almost
have a concept i’m happy with
or i have
almost
found the optimal writing situation/
location/
time of day/
mood/
lighting/
sound/
something/
etc.
but
if imperfection is what i’m looking for
in the product
then perhaps
i should look for that, too
in the process
i’d love to be a
“yes and”
find the funnest stream
go with the flow
and see whatever happens
happening
kind of person
but raising myself from the time i was
approximately 11
gave me some sort of
perfectionistic
type-a-personality
care and careful
self-preservation
overly cautious
kind of vibe constantly fighting against my
natural chaotic state
and hey
maybe it’s the opposite
maybe my natural state is more type-a
and the immediacy of seeing how
life is fleeting
gave me the drive to try to
induce chaos and joy in my life
but whichever way the truth lies
the sentiment still stands:
i have one part of me in chaos
and one part of me trying for strict alignment
and the two parts are forever fighting
inside my mind/my heart/my body/my soul
and rather than tempering each to a
reasonable level, they simply
stop
all action in either direction
and so i am neither cautious nor chaotic
i am simply
stuck.
really
poetry can be whatever we make of it
whatever we want it
to be
but
i’ve spent so much time
trying to get everything
“right”
in other aspects of art and life
how do i ever make anything
that is just only solely
mine?
why
do i only feel ‘good’ at something
when i’m in enough to know
the difference between
solid and not
and i’m early enough to not put undue pressure
on myself—-
but the minute i might add the label ‘professional’
i lose all self-perspective/
expect myself to be
miles better
than where i started
but i’m only me
i can only act where i’ve been
i can only write of what i know
and only let the words flow as they go
and i can’t force anything in emotional expression
so please
(i beg of myself)
let me be
and let me be me
and don’t expect perfection
because it isn’t a real thing
(and it never has been,
but that’s a lesson
for another
poem)